Being Alive
by B.J. Sanders
Summary: There is a hidden history in Jim Kirk's eyes that he's been running from. He finds a new friend in a lonely Vulcan and learns that running doesn't always help. Kirk/Spock. Academy Days, a little AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Being Alive

**Disclaimer:** I think it's BEYOND obvious that I do not own Star Trek... what? You really thought I did?

**Summary:** There is a hidden history behind Jim Kirk's eyes. He's seventeen, a third year mid, and he's been running for more than three years. But now it's time to stop running.

**Comments/Notes:** Okay, I'm not too sure about the summary, or the title... I mean, really? I only chose the title because I like the song. It may change in the future, as well as the summary. I haven't planned anything out. A few things, but nothing TOO major. And I only have a few paragraphs for the second chapter, so that may be up by the end of next year. (There's only a LITTLE sarcasm in that statement... which is really sad.)

It's a little **AU**, and I'm planning on making something happen between **Spock and Kirk**. Characters are probably a little **Out of Character**, too. Sorry about that. And be **WARNED:** **there is angst, with a little bit of...** fluff?

Err... yeah, I'll get back to you on that. Hopefully...

* * *

There was nothing but the sound of his feet echoing the beat of his heart, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He didn't know how long he'd been running – it couldn't have been _that_ long, really – but with possibly fractured ribs and what felt to be a bruised sternum, it might not have been as long as he thought. His knuckles stung from the chilly pins-and-needles air, surely still oozing blood from the drunken bar brawl he'd just left.

It had been his first fight in a long while, and it felt good to have the adrenaline back in his system, regardless of the illegally procured alcohol that came with it.

He stopped and sat down, sweat dripping down his back. His shirt clung to his skin, making him feel uncomfortably cool despite the rise in his heart rate. At least his nose had stopped bleeding. No doubt his mother would be pleased when she heard, granted Jim couldn't really see his mother being pleased about anything he did, legal or not.

Sighing, he ran his hand over his face, wincing when he hit his nose and reopened the split in his lip. His mother… Jim hadn't seen her in three years, ever since she'd sent him to this stuffy, follow-the-rules-or-else school. She'd considered it when he was eleven, when he'd driven his father's car over the quarry; when she hadn't listened to him tell her it was that idiot-bastard Frank's fault for wanting to sell it.

She'd finally decided when he was fifteen after he'd been caught with the judge's daughter in a bar way after curfew, after he'd almost killed the two guys hitting on her. He'd tried to explain it to them that he'd just been exploring the advantages of youth as children and teenagers were wont to do… that, unfortunately, didn't help his case any.

And so… Starfleet Academy. Despite the fact that he _had_ wanted to get out of Iowa, he hadn't wanted to be exiled from the only home he'd ever known. Now, he supposed, he had a different home, one he didn't consider _home_ at all. At least he had the track, which was supposed to be closed at night. But Jim, being Jim, didn't find any difficulty in picking the lock; it was even easier to scale the fence and jump over.

As he leaned back, turning to look up at the night sky filled by eons and cosmos and _future_, he heard footsteps and voices. Coming through the gate was Captain Pike – an odd occurrence in itself, seeing as how he was usually busy _off planet_ – followed by another person, this one unknown to Jim. He was dangerously thin, considering he looked humanoid, but in these times, that didn't mean much of anything. And he looked barely older than Jim.

As they approached, Jim thought he recognized the man as Vulcan, and despite the stranger's age, he couldn't possibly be a student because students came in at the beginning of the academic year and got toured in groups. Not individually, mid-year, and _definitely_ not in the middle of the night.

Pike spotted him, and even through the distance Jim could see the look in the old man's eye, the look that said _I'm going to tell your mother what you've been doing but I'm going to wait until a more sensible hour to contact her, by then, however, I'll probably have forgotten but not because I'm old and can't remember but because you're my favorite cadet._

Well… maybe in not so many words.

"Jim," Pike greeted as he and the Vulcan came over to where he was. When he stood, he flinched, and he was sure that it didn't go unnoticed. Stupid ribs. "Jim, I'd like you to meet one of the new teachers, Mr. Spock. He comes from Vulcan with high regards from the Science Academy."

Jim couldn't help but retort, because really, that's just the kind of guy he was. "And I come from Iowa with high regards from _you_. I hope Spork turns out better."

"_Spock_."

"Right, whatever…" Jim was going to say more, but dark eyes were on him, dark human eyes that met his own. Pike ceased to exist, as did the track and the stars and everything else. There were eyes, and perhaps breath, but nothing else.

Momentarily, Jim experienced freedom and existence and life, for once not warring for dominance. It was sudden and jarring, the feelings and emotions passing between them through the air. There was no contact, there was no need.

Jim blinked, and as suddenly as it was there it was gone. Pike was speaking, and it was hard trying to focus on his words. He actually had to make an effort to understand the words coming from the old man's mouth.

"Your mother would have liked to see you this Christmas," Pike was saying, shrugging his shoulders. It was a gesture Jim was familiar with, something everyone seemed to do when they thought he was hopeless.

The last part caught his attention… Right. Christmas. Which explained why he had been at a bar in the first place, legal or not. It was the holiday. Barely anyone was at school, instructors included. Jim wouldn't have been surprised to find out that he was the only one there… granted, that was clearly not the case anymore.

"It's kind of hard to enjoy Christmas when she won't even look me in the eye," he said spitefully, crossing his arms in front of himself – a defensive gesture he'd learned long ago. Sighing, he dropped his defiant stance, letting his shoulders fall. "Can't I just run the track some more?"

Pike had almost nodded, but caught himself, tilting his head back at the main building. "Go get checked out first. Dr. McCoy worries for your safety." Jim gave him a pointed look that spoke great volumes of sarcasm, but Pike continued. "At least make sure nothing's broken."

"Yeah, right," Jim muttered darkly, scoffing. "He's probably waiting to ambush me with that damn hypo of his." He frowned for a moment before wrinkling his brow in some manner of confusion. "Why's he even still here?"

No one answered him.

As he slowly made his way to the sickbay, exaggerating his steps, Pike and Spock followed. Jim made a show of not listening despite the fact that he very much was.

"That was the track," Pike was saying, gesturing backwards with his hand as they moved forward. "It's only open during the day, but it's easy enough to get into that it might as well be open all the time. _That _one's in there almost every night."

At this, Jim turned around, walking backwards to watch the conversation rather than just listen.

"Then why don't you heighten security around this area?" Spock questioned, raising his left eyebrow. "Or at least employ measures that would enforce the rules."

"Because I like the challenge," Jim supplied helpfully… and did he _really_ just wink at a Vulcan?

Pointedly, Pike and Spock ignored him, the former supplying the answer. "It's better than the alternative." It was a grim answer, but Spock didn't seem to catch that as his not-curiosity got the better of him.

"Oh?"

Before anyone could speak further, however, Jim felt the air go cold and gave a physical shudder and then winced, when he realized what was coming…

"Goddammit! What the hell did you do this time?"

Ah, the lovely, screeching caw of Bones…

"Good God, man! What the hell happened to you? Run into a truck again? Or was it another cliff?"

At that, Spock lifted both of his eyebrows, vaguely wondering if it was a figure of speech or something that had actually happened. There were a few exclamations of pain as the doctor poked and prodded, seeming to get no limits of joy from the sounds coming from Jim.

"Do these altercations happen often?" Spock asked Pike, who wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his smile; it wilted a little as he spoke.

"Mostly just on the holidays anymore." There was a pause before he continued, the smile turning to a frown. His eyes didn't move from Jim and Bones, though. "It used to be a lot more frequent though. His first year here, something happened every other day. It was almost like he had something to prove, or maybe he just didn't care."

"Dammit! Would you _stop_ that!"

Jim was trying to get away from Bones now, his eyes blurring even as he stood; Bones pushed him back onto the bed, careful of the injuries. Pike continued.

"He's good at running away from things. I showed him the track one night after a particularly bad day. He goes there every night. Hasn't missed a night since." At that, Pike smiled, and Spock couldn't imagine why. "Now there are only altercations on holidays when most of the others are gone. And usually it's not even on campus."

Spock's lips curved downward and he tilted his head. "Does he not go home?"

Pike sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Not for three years now. But he's in the top of his classes, and he does exceptionally well in Survival Strategies and Tactical Analysis. In Hand-to-Hand he's----"

"You should see the other guys!" Jim raised his hand, finger pointed at them, his head lolling back. It seemed the hypo was starting to take effect.

Bones sighed and snapped off his gloves. Heading for the door, he rolled his eyes as Jim waved excitedly. "I'm heading out now, so if you guys could handle him for the rest of break…?" At Pike's nod, he continued. "I've taken care of the worst of it, so he should be fine by tomorrow. And if he causes any trouble," at this, he grinned, something that didn't look innocent at all, "the hypos are in the top drawer by the door."

* * *

Okay, so PLEASE help me with this one? Reviews are great, but... right now, I'd be extremely grateful for ideas and/or suggestions. Thank you, and I hope you liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Being Alive

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, because I was really born before my time. I own Star Trek like I own dark matter.

**Comments/Notes:** Okay, so I've learned something new. Don't eat a funnel cake for breakfast. Cause then you just feel _blah_ the rest of the day. Or at least I do. Kind of like eating Jalapeno Poppers for Christmas breakfast. Not a good idea.

And I'm glad this is being received well. I've discovered a little bit more plot, or at least a few more plot points, the only problem is linking them together. Also, I plan on using Pon Farr in this, but not for a while. According to William Shatner's Star Trek Academy _Collision Course_, Sarek was speaking about Spock already having one, and at the time he was nineteen, same age as he is in this. (Also, I've used a few other things from the book too.)

As I am not familiar with engineering, or engines in general (despite the fact that I LOVE looking under the hood and getting my hands dirty), I didn't specify anything that goes on or gets worked on. At least, I hoped I didn't.

Please, correct me if I'm wrong.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who read!**

* * *

James Kirk did not have respect for everyone, barely anyone, and was widely known for being insubordinate to instructors and upperclassmen alike. A third year midshipman and he was still running from things he'd rather not remember. Christopher Pike understood. He'd been there – saved Jim in a way Jim couldn't save himself, still couldn't save himself.

Chris had lost his wife then, on that planet no one wanted to remember. There had been a lot of lives lost, and other things just as important. It was the first and last time Chris had seen Jim cry, fighting and screaming as only a child can when something horrible happens.

Jim wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't talk to anyone. He had sat like a stone for three long days – not eating, not sleeping, not speaking, barely breathing. Something changed in him. He had been fourteen at the time, a mere child, but the eyes that Pike saw, the eyes that he sees blinking up at him sleepily, are no longer those of a child, but those of someone who has seen the worst that man has to offer.

No words were said, no awkwardness shared between them. It was a simple breakfast, slightly burned but edible nonetheless. In the horrifying memories they shared, in the terrors they both knew, Jim Kirk gave one man respect.

Mostly.

"You burnt the eggs again," Kirk said, chewing thoughtfully. "And the toast." He took a moment to swallow, sniffed his drink before cautiously sipping. Pike rolled his eyes at the routine. "At least the juice is okay this time."

"If you're so tired of my cooking," Pike reprimanded, eyes smiling kindly, "go eat at the mess hall like all the other cadets who stay for the weekend."

Jim wrinkled his nose, a rare show of childish distaste. "Everything there tastes like gelatin-flavored protein… and it smells weird."

Pike laughed and gathered the plates; a knock on the door told him Spock was there, and he greeted the Vulcan with a smile on his face. "Mr. Spock."

"Captain Pike," Spock returned with a nod, hands folded neatly behind his back. Behind Chris, there was a sound of something – someone – falling down the stairs with a small exclamation of pain. Less than a moment later, Jim Kirk – looking slightly embarrassed at his folly – stood beside Pike, glancing at Spock almost expectantly. Needless to say, he appeared remarkably better than the night before.

It seemed, Spock observed, Kirk was quite ecstatic about something. He was proven correct when the boy bounced on the balls of his feet, hands in his jacket pocket. "So… are we going?"

Spock's eyebrows raised in question. He didn't quite understand.

"Let me grab my jacket," Chris said, disappearing for a moment, returning with his official Starfleet coat, proudly displaying his rank. "We're going to the _USS Enterprise_, have a bit of a look around, maybe a help out a bit…"

The _USS Enterprise_: the most beautiful ship in the fleet. She still wasn't finished, a bit of a work in progress, but Jim figured he'd never loved anyone – or anything – more. They took the lift to Deck 18 and climbed the ladder down to 19 where they were met with a Scottish brogue caressing the engines.

There, head in an open panel, a few brightly clothed springs around him, was engineer Montgomery Scott, whispering not-so-quietly to his lovely lady and, of course, her ample nacelles.

"Scotty?" Jim questioned, hoping not to frighten the overworked, underfed Scotsman. "What's with the alien worms?"

"Damn Finnegan!" was Scotty's reply, playful ire lacing his words. "Playin' jokes on the secon' years." He trailed off but Kirk caught the last of it. "Can't even pick up af'er 'imself. Now get down 'ere an' help me, laddie!"

Kirk smiled, more than ready to do just that.

-

By the time Jim made it to the bridge, captain's chair gleaming and perfect, he was more than just a little dirty, with black marking up his face and staining his clothes, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder. Pike was there, on his back, welding something beneath the navigation controls; Spock, he assumed, was elsewhere on the ship.

As Jim settled into the helmsman's seat beside Pike, he sighed, running his hand over his face. "That man," he said, weariness in his voice. "Always complaining about food but you never see him eat."

Jim heard an echo of Pikes laughter, just a small chuckle, and then, "I sent him off to the mess for a sandwich and a drink. Thought you could use the break."

Sighing again, Jim leaned over the helm, pushing a few buttons on the display – something he'd seen in one of the operating manuals he'd read a few months before. "I don't know why he doesn't just move his cot into the engine room. Actually, I'm surprised he hasn't."

The turbolift opened behind them, admitting Spock, standing stiffly in his ever-present Vulcan demeanor. "Most illogical," he said, taking a step forward. "Placing a cot in the engine room would only prove a needless hazard to everyone on board. It is quite wise of him to keep his cot where it is."

"At ease, Mr. Spock," came Pike's lilting voice. "He's not serious – just a figure of speech."

"Of course." There was a moment of silence, broken only by the clinking adjustments of metal on metal. "Is there anything else you require of me, sir?"

Pike pulled out from under the consol, standing and brushing off as he looked at the Vulcan. "Well, you could join us for dinner, if you'd like?"

"Are you cooking again?" Jim asked cautiously, easily, leaning back in the chair. A tanned strip of taut stomach flashed from under what had once been a white shirt. Spock reminded himself that just because he noticed didn't mean he was affected.

Pike turned to Jim, sarcastic grin in place. "No, I'm not. Purely replicated this time."

"So, what are we having?" There was a smile in Jim's voice, even as he was trying to appear annoying.

"Whatever's available." Despite the long day, Pike didn't even sound tired. Spock figured it was a common occurrence for the two to playfully bicker, however illogical it seemed. He stated his conclusions as they entered the lift.

"Humans seem to be needlessly argumentative."

Jim smiled again. "No we're not."

Case in point. "Yes, you are."

Even more smiling. "Well, I'm saying we're not."

Had Spock been human, he would have rolled his eyes. "It is most illogical to –"

Jim started laughing and Spock raised his eyebrows at the display. The boy was golden, to be sure. And his smile…

"You're such a sucker!"

Spock had no idea what that meant, or what a crystallized confection had to do with anything. "Indeed," he replied, not knowing what else to say. It only made Jim laugh harder.

Dinner was a meatless, slightly tense affair filled with words and terms Spock was surprised a seventeen year old human boy knew. Overall, things seemed to be doing quite well, and Spock used the experience as an opportunity to observe human actions and behaviors.

"What happened to that girl you were seeing?" Pike asked.

Jim automatically stiffened – he had been hoping to avoid this conversation. Waving his hand, he hoped to dismiss the issue. "Ah, you know – she felt we were wrong for each other or something."

Pike gave him a pointed look. "Isn't that what they all say?" He set his fork down. It seemed he was serious this time. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Jim fought to keep his voice level, to keep his hands from shaking.

The air suddenly became tense, and Spock stopped eating to better observe. There was silence following, Pike watching Jim as Jim tried to ignore everything, pushing food around his plate.

Even as Pike was opening his mouth to speak, Jim was pushing his chair back and standing. "I'm going for a run, okay?"

He was halfway to the door before Pike said anything. "Just remember I'm leaving tomorrow," he called after Jim. His forehead was wrinkled in worry.

Jim put his head around the corner, expectant.

"I've already explained the situation to Barnett, and he gave the okay to use the teacher's quarters while I'm gone. Just…" Here Pike sighed, almost seeming tired or hopeless. Spock thought it might be some combination. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Anything else?" Jim asked quietly.

Pike nodded, looking up at him. "Yeah, be careful," he said, just as quietly.

And with that, Jim was gone. To the track, Spock presumed. But he didn't know the human boy well enough to actually know if he was correct.

"Spock," Pike sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I wouldn't ask this, since I know there's a lot on your plate, but…"

Spock looked down. "That is not true, sir. I have eaten most everything you have prepared."

Pike let out a small laugh, shaking his head. He swore he was getting grayer by the day. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean, well, you have a lot of responsibilities, responsibilities you didn't have before, so you're probably going to be a little stressed, and I wouldn't be asking this except… Well, I'm worried about Jim. It… hasn't been easy for him."

Spock nodded, refusing to acknowledge Pike's nervousness, or the insult unwittingly made about his physiology. He was not so human as to become stressed about such trivial things. "What is it you require?"

"Can you keep an eye on him for me? You know, just make sure he stays out of trouble?"

Spock thought on it. "Of course, sir." It was a simple request, and surely it wouldn't be too difficult a task.

* * *

Right. So, thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Being Alive

**Disclaimer:** Yeah... ah, no.

**Comments/Notes:** Woah. Okay. So, evidently this is well liked, no? Good, because every spare moment at work, at school, and even a few at home are spent writing this story. Even when I'm not writing I'm freaking plotting! ...One of these days I'm going to just invite the _Enterprise_ and crew to just move in and make themselves at home in my brain... Well, not that they don't already, but I'm just saying...

Also, I've never succeed in human meditation, let alone Vulcan, so my knowledge is limited to what I find in books and other stories.

There's quite a bit of dialogue too, and some almost harmless picking and touching. Courtesy of Jim at the expense of Spock.

A little bit of his past if revealed here, but very little. A little bit of reason on why he's so distant from his mom.

I didn't reread this, so I didn't get the chance to check for mistakes and errors... So, I'm sorry. If you find any, just point them out and I'll do my best to fix them. I posted this as soon as I finished writing... and yet, I find myself still writing...

Enjoy! (haha, 2000 words exactly, how awesome is that?)

* * *

He kept his focus inward, conscious only of his breathing, the ebb and flow and the quiet rhythm of his life. It was red around him. The red of his planet, of the cliffs he had known as a boy, of the oceans he had never seen. Spock let thoughts pass through his head, observing but not halting to contemplate further.

It was a simple form of meditation, something he could easily drop into whenever he needed to reassure himself of his emotional control. Spock felt at peace and in control. He ignored the sound of his door opening, the sound of his bed creaking, and the sigh of James Kirk as he started relaxing.

It seemed that Jim had a habit of invading privacy, something of which Pike had informed him. However, Spock had not expected to have his quarters invaded every night. It proved interesting to his mediation, if slightly distracting. Turning to the boy, he noticed Jim had spread over the entire bed, on his stomach, eyes half-opened and watching Spock.

"You have not eaten." It was a statement more than a question, but Jim answered nonetheless.

"No. I don't like eating alone. Figured you could use the company anyway."

Spock almost frowned. "Vulcans do not require companionship to eat. I did not think humans required it either, despite their social nature."

"It's a preference," Jim said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. "It's comfortable in here. Smells nice too."

"Incense," Spock told him, moving to the replicator. "From Vulcan. What would you like?"

Jim waved his hand but noticed Spock's back to him. Even if he hadn't been turned around though, Jim doubted he'd know what it meant. "Whatever's fine." Spock paused, looked back at him. Jim helpfully clarified. "Whatever you're having."

"Is _plomeek _soup adequate?"

"Yeah, sure."

As Spock turned with two bowls in his hands, he paused. Jim was leaning back, head tilted and the pale column of his throat exposed, legs parted in what Spock could only assume was a casual, relaxed posture. Suddenly, the setting seemed too intimate, the lights still low for his meditation. And the way Jim was sighing…

It was inappropriate.

Spock blinked and the spell was broken. Jim's head was hanging, his shoulders slumped, and his hands running through his hair.

"You do not appear to be well rested," Spock observed, setting the bowls on the table beside the bed.

"Ah, it's nothing," Jim laughed. It did not reach his eyes immediately. "So, Vulcan's are sensitive to touch, right?"

It was an abrupt change, but Spock nodded, still standing. He was almost uncomfortable under the daring blue gaze of Jim. "We are, though I don't understand it's relevance to the current conversation."

"Oh, there is no relevance," Jim said, standing quickly and moving forward. "I just wanted to see what happened when I did this."

Suddenly, there was a weakness in Spock's knees and a sound trying to crawl up and out from his throat. Jim's fingers were on his ears, moving slowly, lightly, as if exploring unknown territory. They were gone after a moment and Spock knew without a doubt that his cheeks were greener than before, his breathing not quite as even as it had been.

"Sorry," Jim said, looking almost as embarrassed as Spock felt, taking a step back and scratching the back of his head. "I've wanted to do that since I first met you… I just… didn't think it'd have that effect."

Spock cleared his throat, felt his mask slip back into place. "Please try to restrain yourself in the future, Jim."

They sat to eat, uncertain in the silence, movements hesitant and conversation lacking. It was awkward, to say the least. At least the soup wasn't cold though. As Jim took a spoonful, he seemed surprised, licked his lips before asking, "Do you add anything?"

Spock waited a moment, set his spoon down and wiped his mouth before replying. "No. Why do you ask?"

Jim smiled, shrugged. "This is way better than whatever Pike brings back. It actually has _taste._"

"All Vulcan cuisine has taste. Most, however, are too subtle for the human palette to properly enjoy."

"Huh." Jim felt cocky all of a sudden. "Than why do _I_ taste it, since I'm human?"

There was a long pause before Spock answered. "I cannot answer that."

Jim was quick with a response. "So you don't know everything."

"I never claimed that I did."

"No," Jim pressed, grinning most wickedly, blue eyes dancing. "But you sure do act like it."

Before he could continue, the computer on the desk notified them that someone would like to speak to Spock. "Ambassador Sarek," it said and Spock accepted.

"Spock," the old Vulcan nodded, his eyes catching the human male perched comfortably on the side of the bed. HE raised his eyebrows as he looked back at this son.

"Father." Spock's back was stiff again, hands folded neatly behind him. By the time Spock turned around to request his privacy, Jim was already standing by the door, waving with a smile.

"Tomorrow, I presume?" Spock queried, assuring himself that he already knew the answer.

"You're catching on," Jim said, winking as he slipped outside.

"Indeed." It was said by both Vulcans, and suddenly, Spock felt tense, nervous perhaps. But he refused to let it show.

"Who was the boy?" Sarek asked finally. "He seemed rather… lax."

"James Kirk, father," Spock replied, his tone even. "He… _enjoys_ the company. Humans, as you know, are social by nature."

"Yes," Sarek said, ignoring the intent behind his son's words. "I'm aware."

That, it seemed, was the end of the pleasantries. "Have you heard anything about the two agents missing from the embassy?"

-

Jim stared at the star map on the ceiling, the glowing clusters and plates that were supposed to be an exact replica of the real thing. It was not his, just as this room was not his, but he took comfort in it nonetheless, watching the stars glitter above him.

Once, he had wanted to explore all of them, especially the ones his father had. But now…

He'd had his chance when he was fourteen. Despite the fact that he'd already started making trouble around town, his mother had agreed to let him go, if only because he had begged so pleadingly with his father's face.

And what he'd gotten…

_A little girl, barely eight years old, was vaporized in a cloud of red dust, her cries echoing into the safety of the woods she'd never reach…_

_The laughing taunts of his best friend hunting him, shivering children younger than him, crowding around for safety… knowing he knew what to do because he was the older…_

_The hands of Matthew and Griffyn on him… making him watch… making him feel…_

Jim sat up immediately, trying to calm the turbulence in his stomach, in his mind, trying to make his hands stop shaking, his eyes stop tearing. The buzzer of the door rang out in the silence and he took a moment to compose himself before he opened it.

"Sam?" It wasn't who he had been expecting, but his older brother greeted him with a wide grin and a warm hug. "What are you doing here?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Luckily, his brother took no offence and instead looked suddenly sheepish. Jim let him in before he asked. "What's wrong, Sam? What happened?"

Sam sighed, sinking down onto the floor, his back against the bed. "Oh, man. I really screwed up this time Jimmy." He looked up with tears in his eyes. "They're gonna kill me Jimmy."

Jim sat beside him, resigned, head in his hands once again. "What happened?" he asked again, not entirely sure he wanted to know.

There was a slight grin on Sam's face as he began. "You remember that one girl, right? The one I brought over last year? Well, she talked me into starting a family. I figured when I made enough money, I'd take her away from this place and settle down. But…"

Here, his smile started slipping. "Jimmy, they're not nice people. But I had to make the money somehow, right? So I've been doing a bunch of jobs for them, you know, nothing too serious. It's mostly just stealing stuff." Sam shrugged, but his shoulders dropped too heavily for the gesture to be casual.

"They want to meet you, Jimmy. I don't even know how they found out about you, 'cause I never mentioned you! Not once! It's like they just knew!"

Jim sighed, put his hand on his brother's shoulder to calm him. "Its okay, Sam," he said. "It's okay. We'll work this out somehow. We always do."

Sam smiled, teary-eyed, as he hugged his brother again. "I don't know if I can believe that this time Jimmy. I really don't. But I'm gonna try." He snuffled, wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. "These guys are real serious. Really."

Jim stood, stretched. "Well, you can stay here for the night. Tomorrow…" He paused, looked down at Sam. He wouldn't like this at all. "You'll go back to Iowa, start again. Mom probably needs help around the house anyway."

"But Frank…!"

Jim held up his hand. "Is in the hospital. Pike told me the other day. Real bad accident, had a heart attack… something like that."

Sam stared at his little brother, slack jawed. "That's it? That's your plan? Go back to Iowa?"

Jim nodded. "For now, yes. After this blows over, we'll see about sending you off planet. With your girl," he added. "Until then, it's back to the farm. Besides, mom could probably use the company."

"Then why don't you visit her?"

Jim didn't say anything, didn't look at his brother.

Sam realized his mistake. "Look, Jimmy. I'm sorry. I'm just worried. These people are _dangerous._ They _killed two Vulcans_, Jimmy. Two _Vulcans_. Vaporized right in front of me, like they were never even there in the first place. Do you know what they'd do to me if they caught me?"

"Which is exactly why you're going back –"

His door buzzed to life suddenly, and opened without his admittance. Standing there, in the dying light, wasn't someone he expected to see. Especially not at _his_ door.

"Spock?" Jim tried to keep the surprise out of his voice, but he doubted he succeeded. "What are you doing here?"

"It seems," the Vulcan began, allowing the door to close behind him, giving a pointed look at Sam as he continued, "that we have something in common after all."

It wasn't time for laughing matters, but the air in his room was suddenly intense, so Jim went with it anyway. "You mean you want to touch my ears too? I don't think it'd have quite the same effect but… if you're willing to try…"

Sam, abruptly and without warning, fainted. Jim wasn't sure whether it was from shock or fear, and at that moment he didn't really care. He had an irate (okay, maybe not so much) Vulcan on his hands, he could only deal with one thing at a time.

The room was silent, and for a moment, Jim wondered if perhaps Spock had fainted too, but as he turned around, Sam safely on solid ground, he saw the Vulcan's eyebrows furrowed, as if actually contemplating the joke. Seriously, how thick could this guy be? So smart and yet…

Jim sighed, rubbed his eyes. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

A little bit of a cliffhanger... I'll see what I can do to get this next chapter up as soon as possible. I'll even see about ignoring class again today... just for you!... okay, maybe that's not entirely true, but law is boring. For me, at least. xp ...and to think, finals are in less than two weeks.

This story is brought to you by the lovely thing that is procrastination. I am totally not studying, and completely ignoring my finals. I hope you're happy.

I know I am. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Being Alive

**Disclaimer: **Totally - but only in the way where I don't get credit.

**Notes/Comments:** Okay, so my chapters keep getting longer. Not by much, but still. This one is 2040 words.

Also, its official: Case law sucks ass. And Sam is crazy.

I actually had fun writing this, despite the large gaps in work where I actually have to work.

* * *

Three hours later, Sam was still out, and the Vulcan seemed content where he was, awaiting an explanation that Jim couldn't give, which he'd tried to explain.

"Look, I don't know anything, alright? He just showed up here, said he was in trouble and then you show up all spooky and creepy and accusing!"

"The Vulcans he spoke of –"

"I don't know!" Jim sighed, ran his hand over his face. "Just wait till he wakes up." He took a moment, paced, before turning back to Spock. "How did you even hear us? What, were you eavesdropping outside the door or something?"

Spock straightened, shaking his head. "No. Vulcan's air is thinner than Earth's. We are able to hear much better than humans." Here, he gave a pointed look at Jim, tilting his head slightly. "And Vulcan's do not eavesdrop."

"Obviously," Jim muttered crossly. "They just happen to overhear private conversations."

"I can see where your confusion comes from, Jim," Spock started, evidently feeling educational. "However, there is an obvious difference between eaves—"

"Spock." It was a simple statement, but filled with human emotion. Fatigue, irritation… Spock could not recognize them all, but stopped nonetheless, if only because his mother had taught him to be courteous.

"Look, I'm tired," Jim said, hoping the Vulcan would catch on.

He didn't.

Spock stood, stiff and straight, in the silent glum of the room. "Then I will wait."

Jim sighed again, something he seemed to be doing a lot of lately. "How about, when he wakes up, I'll take him to you. Is that okay?" He really wanted to sleep.

Spock thought a moment. "That is… acceptable."

As he walked to the door, he heard Jim fall into the bed, breath evening out almost immediately. It was quite fascinating to watch as the boy's brow furrowed in his sleep, frown marring him even in dream. Before he got too drawn in, Spock caught himself, resigning himself to waiting until the boys woke up.

Jim felt like he had slept all of five minutes when Sam started shaking him, eyes wide and openly paranoid. If Jim hadn't been so tired, he'd have laughed out loud. As it was… it rather scared him.

"Jim, Jim, there was a Vulcan here."

Jim groaned. "It was just Spock, Sam, now go back to sleep."

"What did you do to him?" Sam was getting more hysterical by the minute, eyes wild and looking around the room for any trace of Vulcans. "He's not here anymore."

Jim yawned. It was likely he wasn't getting anymore sleep with Sam like this. "Yeah, he just wanted to know about those two Vulcans you saw vaporized. After you fainted I sent him back to his room."

"Just like that?" Sam seemed amazed. Vaguely, Jim wondered if he was using anything. "And I didn't faint. I fell."

"Right." It was obvious Jim didn't believe him, standing and stretching before deciding that a different shirt was needed before going out. Sam was following closely.

"When's breakfast?"

"Whenever I wake up." Sam was becoming increasingly annoying.

"…You are awake." At least his eyes were still open.

Jim stopped a few doors down, not even bothering to knock as he keyed in a code that Sam couldn't see. Inside, Spock waited calmly; Jim didn't greet him, just brushed passed him and flopped onto the Vulcan's bed. "I'm not getting up," he said defensively, despite the fact that no one had said anything to him about his actions.

Sam was weary of entering the room, but relented and let the door close behind him as he saw how relaxed Jim was, which reminded him…

"So… you and Jimmy, huh?"

"I don't understand the question."

Right, Sam remembered dealing with Vulcans. Literal sense only, since none of them had a sense of humor. Where the hell had Jimmy gotten this one, anyway? "I know my brother's a big flirt, but it's not often that he actually _invites_ someone to touch him, you know?" He started pacing, talking animatedly with his hands. "Which he just did, with you, a _Vulcan_ no less. What's up with that? _Do you want to touch my ears?_ My ass! I'm his brother and I didn't even _know_ he was into shit like that! _Ears_? Seriously Jimmy?"

Sam paused, took a breath, and contemplated for a moment. "Granted, that does explain some things… But still! Vulcans aren't even _sexual_! Or emotional!" He turned to Spock. "How far have you two gotten, by the way?"

Spock's mouth was open to reply, his eyebrow cocked at an alarming angle, but he wasn't the one to speak.

Jim was sitting up in bed, glaring daggers at his brother. "We're not like that." His teeth were clenched, and he wanted nothing more than to just lay back down and sleep. But Sam… He was very likely going to kill his brother before breakfast ever came.

"Jimmy, you're sleeping in his bed," Sam pointed out needlessly. "And you know the code to his room. Obviously you've done this before." He turned back to Spock, looking extremely curious, his grin wicked. "Was he your first? Because, like I said earlier, Vulcans aren't know for being very sexual, but we're talking about Jimmy, and he never takes no for an answer, well… except for that one time… but that was a fluke—"

"_Spock_!" Jimmy hissed, standing and pulling the Vulcan over to him. "Don't you have some way to knock him out? Or, at the very least, shut him up?"

Spock considered for a moment. "Yes. It is a move that places pressure upon the—"

"Don't explain, Spock," Jim said, trying to keep his temper in check. "Just do it."

It was a flash of movement too fast for Jim's tired eyes to follow, but it seemed only a second before Sam was dropping to the floor. If he didn't know any better, Jim would think that he'd fainted again.

"You're gonna have to teach me that someday," Jim told Spock, climbing back into the bed, pleasantly ignoring his brother.

"It is a very difficult move for humans to learn," Spock replied. There seemed to be a slight smile on his face, just a tilting of his lips. "I doubt you will be able to achieve it."

Jim grumbled, rolling over to glare at the Vulcan standing over him. "Pride," he said simply. "A human emotion." He smiled lazily. "It becomes you, Mr. Spock."

Spock almost frowned, watched Jim's eyes close, lips still curled. "There is no need to insult me, Jim."

-

It was warm when he awoke, tangled in sheets that didn't smell like him, gazing into a blurred face that didn't look like Sam's. It was his brother's voice though, calling after him worriedly, even though he was looking up at Spock, who was holding a bowl in his hands. If Jim didn't know any better, he'd think the Vulcan was worried too.

Mindlessly, he stretched and yawned wide, smiling up at Spock. He still wasn't sure if he was mad at Sam or not. "Did I miss breakfast?"

"Yeah," Sam said, voice sounding irate. "And lunch, too." He was on his knees beside the bed, looking over at Jim. "I had to spend the whole day with _this_ guy. He wouldn't even let me wake you up. And he wouldn't let me eat until I told him everything I knew about those Vulcans. Which wasn't a lot, really –"

Jim held up his hand. "You're rambling again Sam." He put the threat behind his words. Luckily, they got through, because Sam abruptly shut up. "What about them?" he asked, looking up at Spock.

"Dinner," Spock replied, handing the bowl to Jim, and a spoon. "They were sent from the embassy to infiltrate a suspected ring of thieves. We have not yet identified the leader, and none of the kids have records. At least," he amended, "they aren't on record."

"Kids?" Jim asked incredulously, leaning forward without spilling his soup. It really was good; if he knew how to cook he'd ask for the recipe.

"Yes. Of various ages."

Jim looked at Sam, who seemed – again – to get the message.

"The oldest are in charge, probably not much older than twenty or so. The youngest I've ever seen was… six maybe?" Sam shrugged, eyes darting between Spock and Jim. "The oldest guy, he's in charge. And he stays that way through fear – makes an example of anyone he thinks disobeys him. Even some who don't. He's the one who took out those Vulcans. Just pushed a button and _poof!_ AT first I thought he was going to shoot me."

"Why?" Jim asked, almost suspiciously.

"Because I wouldn't bring him you."

"What would he want with me?" Jim wasn't sure he wanted to hear this, but he listened anyway.

Sam shrugged again. "Ever since he found out you were my brother, he's been all about meeting you. I don't know why. It's kind of creepy actually, and he gets this weird gleam in his eye."

Jim sat silently. Spock was quiet, eyebrow cocked, trying to make sense of the new information. Sam was nervous. He was almost positive they were sleeping together. After all, Jim did look right at home in the Vulcan's bed, slowly eating his _plomeek_ soup like it was something he did every night. Speaking of which…

"Still having nightmares?"

Jim froze, spoon halfway to his mouth, eyes frozen in shock, perhaps fear. Sam wondered vaguely if he shouldn't have spoken at all, but after a shaky breath Jim was smiling again, shaking his head. "They're not as bad as they used to be." His voice was quiet, reassuring, like he didn't believe what he was saying.

"Bullshit." Sam called him on it. "I just spent two nights watching you sleep. They're not getting better, Jimmy. You're just getting used to them. Everyone's worried Jimmy. And mom kept asking after you—"

"You talked to mom? When?"

It was a change in conversation, one Sam acknowledged, a small step, but Jim would take what he could.

"While you were asleep." It was simple answer, but he elaborated for Jim's verbal evasion. "I explained the situation to her – extremely edited, of course, but she got the gist." He checked the watch on his wrist – something Jim hadn't noticed. His brother with a watch! Imagine that! "I'll be leaving in a few."

Sam stood, said his farewells, still cautious around the serious-looking Vulcan observing him, and left, positive that Jim was in capable hands. He hoped.

There was a silence in the room, perhaps tension, after Sam left, and Jim realized how domestic he felt. Dinner in a bed that wasn't his, sleeping in a room that wasn't his, his barriers down and stripped away in front of someone who might as well be a perfect stranger… Suddenly, he wasn't sure what he should do.

"Nightmares?"

Jim stiffened. That was something he'd hoped Spock hadn't caught on to. He tried to wave it off. "It's nothing, really. Just Sam overreacting."

Spock wasn't buying it. "I find that unlikely."

"Well, I'm not explaining further," Jim said hastily, on edge. He put the bowl on the table beside the bed and proceeded to flop back down, rolling away from the nosy Vulcan.

It was a good thing Spock didn't have to sleep as often as humans, because it seemed he would not have the use of his bed yet again. Had he been less than Vulcan, he might have expressed annoyance in Jim's insistence to overtake his bed.

Rather than annoying, however, the action seemed to be something his mother might call endearing.

Spock almost frowned. That was something he would have to explore further in meditation.

* * *

Hmmm.... now I have to see where to go next, since I didn't give you much to look forward to. Cliffhanger wise, that is. I'll probably think of something as I'm trying to sleep, because seriously, 4 to 5 hours a night, restless and disturbed, is just NOT cutting it. Its probably going to last for awhile, so I'll keep doing it.

If only because this story has me hooked too. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Being Alive

**Disclaimer:** Oh, I SO wish...

**Notes/Comments:** Okay, so, with help to this chapter, I would like to thank my roommate for suggesting the nightmare, although I don't think she thought it would turn out quite so... like it did.

There are **sexual situations **here, both accidental and forced. And Jim seems to be on an emotional rollercoaster. Spock... is dealing. **Semi-graphic... gore? Er, probably not the right word.**

I had too much fun with this chapter. Russian Java Monster probably helped with that... but _nyet_, I'll say naught. You'll have to read and find out.

* * *

Jim woke up in the early hours of morning, the day outside still dark and foggy through the window. There were no stars over him, so it wasn't hard to notice that he was still in Spock's room. In Spock's bed. He almost laughed at that, wondering why Spock would even _allow_ Jim to stay. That didn't seem very logical.

But he shrugged it off and stood on shaky legs, making his way to where he remembered the bathroom to be. He tripped over something before he could make it, a body he thought was Spock. When he looked down, however, his stomach clenched, his mouth gone dry.

A boy, five years old with half his face missing, skull broken and dented. His eyes were still there, though, open and staring at Jim, still asking for help, safety…

Jim looked away, the sickness rising in his throat. This wasn't right. His eyes only found more bleeding children, all of whom had followed him, starving and cold in hopes that he knew what he was doing. They were all dead now, and he blamed himself. He'd had the laser rifle, could have pointed it at Matthew, could have stepped in front of the shot aimed at the little girl. He could have done a lot of things, but he'd stood still, done nothing, as freezing and hungry as the rest.

He watched as Matthew and Griffyn held him down, their contact too hot in the virgin snow freshly fallen. Matthew was his age, and Jim had heard stories back home about his… _tendencies_. Griffyn was a few years older, went to a different school and tended to hang around with the wrong crowd. Jimmy had only seen him a few times before.

But this wasn't what he had expected.

He'd heard about sex, had been through the required classes, but _this_… this was a new experience. It was disgusting, getting off on murder. Matty held his eyes open and Griffyn… he made it pleasurable in a way that it shouldn't have been.

As Jimmy fought the noises trying to claw their way out of his throat, he watched the children run in terror only to be shot down. Some of them were left, still breathing but unable to move.

He ignored the words whispered to him, the harsh promise of what was to come. The snow turned red, and they made him enjoy it.

He didn't want to like this feeling. He didn't want it…

Something was grounding him to reality, to the present, as his past on that distant planet faded to be replaced by the darkened look of a Vulcan who had seen too much. There were things in Jim's head that weren't his, feelings too strong to be human, words in a tongue he didn't know, written in swirling scripts he didn't understand.

Spock's face was far from emotionless, and Jim froze in terror at the intensity of that stern gaze locked on him, warm hands pouring heat into his shoulders, the grip reassuring but firm. _Stabilizing_, Jim realized, allowing him to push away the feel of other things on him, in him, things that weren't there anymore.

Jim didn't realize he was crying until Spock was kneeling on the bed awkwardly beside him, tense movements trying to remember what to do as he attempted to comfort the emotional human in his bed. It was what his mother would have done, what his mother _had_ done, at one point in his childhood.

Despite the fact that there was no meld, there was emotional transference, and Jim got lost in the turmoil, unable to determine the origin of _utter loneliness_ that he kept feeling, if it was his own or Spock's.

The Vulcan blurred in and out of focus as Jim continued to cry, and he wanted to feel embarrassed about it, being such a simpering idiot in front of this strong, controlled man that didn't look affected at all. But he couldn't, because the tears wouldn't stop, and Spock didn't seem to mind, even as Jim completely collapsed against him, hands fisting in his very proper and pressed regulation shirt.

He was completely enveloped in warmth as he sobbed into the Vulcan's side, strange symbols floating around in his mind as he tried to forget what had happened, tried to remember the faces of those he'd failed. He only cried that much harder.

While Jim didn't know how long it took him to be able to breathe without gasping or choking, or how long it had taken him to half-climb into Spock's lap, he did know that his nose was pressed against a sharp Vulcan hip and his fingers were hooked in belt loops that weren't his own, pulling them just low enough for Jim to realize that when he wet his lips with his tongue…

Spock's body twitched and his eyes shot open, daring to glance down at Jim who happened to be as red as Spock was green at that moment.

There was a long silent pause in the air before Jim made haste to stand, backing up and forgetting the sheets tangled around his feet, his knees buckling against the bed as fell forward.

Spock was not expecting it either as he threw his hands out to catch Jim before he physically injured himself further, only to end up on his back with Jim pressed firmly against his chest, breath hot on his neck, electric shocks running throughout his entire being as the extra-sensitive nerves in his fingertips transmitted messages of arousal.

Spock's chin brushed through Jim's hair as he angled a look at their inadvertently, intimately intertwined hands, hands that Jim used to push himself up to look more clearly at the Vulcan. The movement, though seemingly harmless, made Spock's blood quicken, his breath short and uneven as his body twitched again.

Jim's eyes were dark as the transference of arousal made its way through his system. He shifted his weight and bit his lip when he thought that Spock might become permanently green if he blushed any darker. It was strangely erotic.

He leaned forward, a sly grin curling his mouth, a smart comment ready and at the front of his mind… but he froze, completely still. Spock's eye had widened just a fraction in surprise, perhaps shock, but it was enough to remind Jim of the terror he'd felt once. Enough to remind him that he didn't want to be like them.

Jim threw himself against the wall beside the bed, making sure that he couldn't touch Spock. Spock, for all his lust-hazed mind, seemed to understand and quickly excused himself to the bathroom.

Jim tried not to think of what he might be doing, focusing instead on untangling and safely extracting himself from the bed before trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. One minute crying hysterically and the next trying to sexually frustrate an unusually emotional Vulcan… it didn't really make sense to Jim.

He stopped thinking about it when Spock came out of the bathroom, still green but looking slightly more composed than he had when he'd left. Jim wasn't sure what to say, but, as it usually did in sensitive situations, his mouth moved before his mind could catch it.

"I'm sorry about trying to—" He couldn't say rape, and he didn't want to make light of the situation, but his emotions were still in a fray – and, really, what was he supposed to say? "Well, the whole sex thing. I'm seventeen, you know? Hormones play a major roll in my life."

He would have continued, too, but Spock beat him to the punch. "I understand, Jim." He remained standing on the other side of the room, like he couldn't trust Jim, or maybe he just couldn't trust himself. It was confusing. "However, it was not your fault. Not entirely."

The Vulcan _plomeek_ soup came into play again, and Jim couldn't hide his grin as he took one of the bowls from Spock.

"You inquired earlier about the skin sensitivity of Vulcans." Jim nodded, tried to hold back the wry smile_ that_ memory elicited. "A Vulcan's fingers…" Spock shifted almost self-consciously. "Humans kiss with their mouths, using their lips as the nerve endings there are more stimulating and sensitive than in other places. Our fingers serve the same purpose."

Spock was green again, avoiding Jim's gaze as he blew on his soup.

There was a stretch in silence.

"So I kissed you?" Jim asked, cheeks blazing red. Maybe the heat was starting to get to him.

Spock swallowed thickly. "Perhaps it would be better defined as _foreplay_."

Jim almost choked, staring wide-eyed at Spock. _Seriously_? His mouth stretched in a lazy grin as a realization came to him. "Is that why you don't eat with your hands? _Food sex?_"

He liked seeing Spock flustered, so he decided to fluster him some more, sticking his fingers in his soup and trailing his tongue over the drippings, staring with hooded eyes at the Vulcan, who seemed very uneasy in his lust.

Jim bit his thumb. "So you've never sucked on your own—"

"_Jim_," Spock said sharply.

"That wasn't what I was going to ask, but, yeah, you _can_ suck on me if you want." There was that smile again, the golden smile that made Spock's breath stop.

It was quite possible he'd never understand the human capacity to change emotions so suddenly. He watched Jim eat for a few moments more before speaking, noting the warmth he radiated as he ate.

"You seem to take comfort in your food."

Another smile. "_Plomeek_ soup is special. It's the first thing I ate after…" Jim's voice trailed off, his eyes darkening in a way less than pleasant. "After."

"Tarsus IV, I presume." It wasn't a question. Spock knew. He answered the things unasked in Jim's dark look. "Emotional transference from trying to wake you. I received… pieces. Also, my father was one of the delegates that came to offer his assistance to the survivors. _Plomeek_ soup is quite simple to make, and so was readily offered."

"This tastes like what I had then," Jim said quietly. "But I wasn't with the other _survivors_. I ran away from the Starfleet officers when they tried to help me. Most of the damage had been done by the time they came anyway, so their presence didn't make much difference in my opinion."

He took another spoonful of soup, savoring quietly before glancing quickly at the Vulcan who seemed utterly enthralled by his story. "There was this lady, though. Pretty, and she had this _motherly_ glow about her. She was there when I fell, tripped on a root in the woods. I… I cried… when she touched me, and she didn't even mean anything by it, just wanted to make sure I was okay and everything. I was crying and bleeding and she just… well," Jim said, gesturing towards Spock, "she did what you did."

Jim had the undivided attention of Spock on him, recounting a past that had been filed classified the moment it had hit the air.

"She took me back to where the survivors were, only they weren't there anymore. It was dark, and tents had been set up, blankets and food handed out, guards placed around a camp and down the trail to the shuttles. That's where she took me, one of the shuttles. To warmth that the others hadn't been able to obtain. She let me clean up, gave me a change of clothes… she made soup, even. From scratch, and she let me watch her do it." Jim smiled at perhaps the only happy memory he had of that place.

He laughed at the irony then. "A _human!_ Making _Vulcan plomeek soup!_ I thought it was the greatest thing ever when I found out what it was."

It was Spock's turn to be quiet now, gazing thoughtfully somewhere over Jim's left shoulder. "Did you attain her name?"

Jim thought hard, his tongue actually poking between his teeth as he reviewed his memory. "Uh… Amanda, I think. Amanda… something."

"Amanda Grayson," Spock said matter-of-factly.

Jim looked momentarily surprised. "You know her?"

"My mother."

A moment of silence.

"Bullshit." And then, "Really?" Jim tilted his head, wondering. "Well, yeah, now that I think about it… The whole comfort-while-crying thing… and the soup is the same." He looked up, met Spock's eyes. "You have her eyes, too…"

The silence stretched as they looked at one another, realization hitting Jim as he laughed quietly, giving Spock another one of those _looks_ that seemed almost playful.

"Huh… I've already gotten into your pants, then."

Spock blinked. "Would you explain how you came to this conclusion?"

"She gave me _your_ clothes to change into. Because I don't think I could've fit into _hers_, you know?" He still held the bowl even though he was finished with his soup, a smug smile playing on his features.

"You are incorrect," Spock said simply, and for a moment Jim thought he really _had_ worn her clothes. "She did not give you my clothes. I did."

"Huh."

That was all Jim could say. He didn't recall any other Vulcans on that shuttle with Amanda, let alone one that wasn't old and political. The fact that _Spock_ had been there, had probably been watching him…

"Voyeur," Jim accused, but there was no spite behind it. "You were watching me the whole time, weren't you?"

"I assure you, that was not the case. While she asked me to watch you, I did, but in no way was it… _voyeuristic_." The word seemed like a joke now, a small lilt in the voice that Jim had to strain to hear. "It was, however, fascinating to observe your sleeping patterns."

Spock looked directly at him… almost _flirtatious _in his tone. That was weird, but not unwelcome. "You seemed to gravitate towards _heat_, much like you do now. My mother found it quite hilarious to see me struggling in the grasp of a fourteen year old human boy."

"Yeah…" Jim drawled, quirking his eyebrow. "Mothers have a thing about seeing their sons in humiliating situations."

"Indeed," Spock remarked.

It was peaceful for a while, both relaxing in their joined solitude that wasn't quite solitude. Jim shifted and almost cursed. His bladder, after remaining dormant for too long, had at long last made its presence known. He almost tripped over Spock in his haste to the bathroom.

As his fingers worked hurriedly at the zipper on his pants, another thought occurred to him, something he couldn't keep to himself. Knowing Spock was keeping an ear out for him – if not an eye or two – he called through the cracked door, not surprised when he heard the dull thud of a bowl hitting the floor. Possibly something else, too.

"So, when you go to the bathroom… Is that considered sex or foreplay?"

Spock didn't answer. Jim made a note to ask Bones when he got back from vacation, almost positive the doctor wouldn't answer him either.

But, dammit, he wanted to know!

* * *

So this one... yeah. I love torturing them. Maybe too much. I'm hoping to torture Bones next chapter too.

I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I did! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Being Alive

**Disclaimer:** Yes, that's why I'm in school learning case law. So I can take myself to court for lying. :) I think I'll lose though...

**Notes/Comments:** Yes, I did my final. Just now. I have a bad feeling. I've been writing like crazy, hoping to make this longer... but I've got other things going now, too. I've been on and off of st-xi-kink meme on Lj, finding prompts and writing those. I've posted a few on here, more on my Lj, and I'm still working on more.

I mostly just work on this at work, occasionally at school. Coming Thursday, I have off an entire week off of school. I know! A WEEK! Amazing... But, I have hopes for this story, so hopefully I'll get working on that.

**Character death**, I know, sorry. I didn't want to but it fit. And things get a little _chummy. _If you get my drift. But not TOO much. Also... um, **Poor Bones...**

Enjoy!

* * *

Jim actually hadn't intended to ask Bones _that_ question, but it had been the first thing that left his mouth when he'd seen the doctor. He wasn't even sure _why_ he was still thinking about it.

Bones kind of just… froze and gave Jim a look that just screamed _I-didn't-sleep-with-my-ex-and-even-if-I-did-I'm-not-telling-you-but-why-the-fuck-do-you-want-to-know-about-Vulcan-foreplay?_

Jim shifted awkwardly, sitting down on one of the biobeds. "Well, you know about Vulcan physiology, don't you? About the fingers and the food sex, because you're a doctor and you know about this stuff and I'm curious."

Bones' brain hadn't caught up quite yet, but he did catch one thing in the breathless question. _"Food sex?"_

"Er… yeah, since Vulcan's don't eat with their hands. Nerve endings in their fingers or something," Jim dismissed, waving his hand and gesturing vaguely.

Bones paled. "Please don't tell me you… did you?" Jim blushed. Bones almost exploded. "Jim! What were you thinking?"

"It was an accident!" He paused, thinking. "Mostly. I tripped and landed weird."

Bones looked skeptical but didn't press the issue, positive that he didn't want to know more. Grabbing a tricorder, he began checking Jim's stats, changing tunes. "How have you been sleeping?"

Jim shrugged and smiled shyly – something Bones knew to be misleading. "Spock would know better than I would."

"Dammit, Jim!" Bones cursed as Jim laughed a laugh most evil. "I can't know these things!"

"Oh, don't worry," Jim said nonchalantly. "He was a perfect gentleman. We ate together, too. _And_ he held me when I cried. It was kind of sweet, really…"

"He mad you cry?" Ah, yes, Bones and his overprotective streak.

"No, no. He made me laugh, though." Here, Jim waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "And he knocked out Sam, so big plus there."

"He what?"

"Don't worry, I asked him to do it. Sam was rambling and accusing us of sleeping together because I apparently looked perfectly content in his bed."

Bones looked taken aback. "His _bed_, Jim? How long have you known him, exactly?"

"I didn't _sleep_ with him. I mean, he _was_ in the room, obviously, but we didn't _do it_. Geez, I'm not a total whore." Jim took a moment to consider. "Well, that's debatable. Besides, turns out I slept with him three years ago and didn't even know it."

Jim threw his hands up and smiled at Bones, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose and trying to ignore the annoying thing in front of him. This was information he _really_ didn't need to know. Good to have, but not needed. "How's Sam?"

"In trouble. Again. I sent him back to mom." He said it like it was something that happened everyday, something as natural as breathing. With Jim, it may well have been.

"You slept with her, didn't you?"

The question, once more, wasn't what Bones expected but he knew automatically what it meant. "No." Jim gave him a knowing look. "Okay, yes. Once… maybe twice. But you're not getting any details!"

Jim's laugh echoed down the hall, Bones cursing loudly at him to _shut the hell up, dammit,_ followed by the sharp sting of a hypo and a surprised _ouch!_ Spock raised his eyebrow as he stood in the door way, watching them suppressed curiosity.

"Spock!" It was Jim's voice, waving him over. "Do you believe this guy actually thinks I seduced you?"

"Indeed?" Jim could tell he was amused, the bastard. Had probably planned it all out too. "I assure you doctor that is not what happened. He did, however, attempt several times to… _arouse_ me."

Jim's mouth fell open. "Not on _purpose!_ How was I to know your hands and ears make you want to—"

"Erogenous, Jim," Bones supplied hopefully.

"That's _not_ what I was going to say," Jim said indignantly, huffing and crossing his arms.

"Oh, I _know_ what you were going to say." He held a hypo threateningly until Jim stood down with a grumble, possibly mumbling something about evil doctors who were supposed to be friends. "What did you need, Mr. Spock?"

"The medical records of the two with whom I arrived. Their status requires a change." Bones waited, watching Spock. He made no move, and there was no emotion. "Deceased. It is unclear as to how, but we believe them to be vaporized."

Bones openly stared. "What—_vaporized?_ How the hell did that happen?"

"That information is classified, doctor." And with that, Spock turned back to the door and left.

Bones looked to Jim, who shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. Did _anyone_ know what was going on? He was a doctor, dammit, not a clairvoyant!

-

The next few days had Starfleet student and teachers making their way back on campus to begin the new semester. The academy suddenly came to life. Before his roommate got back, Kirk made sure to move his stuff from the shared double room and into Pike's teacher's quarters.

The night before school started, as he sat in Spock's bed and ate something that Spock would rather not dwell on, there was a call from Chris Pike. For him. In Spock's room.

"Figured you'd be here," is what the digitalized face said when he saw Jim leaning over Spock's shoulder. The signal wasn't from space.

Jim frowned. "Where are you?" Then he saw his mom's face, worried behind Pike. "You're in _Iowa_?"

"A favor for your mom. She's worried about Sam," Pike explained. "He hasn't arrived yet."

Jim took a bite from his sandwich, saw Spock's ear twitch. "Sure there wasn't a delay?"

"Positive." The look on Pike's face wasn't something Kirk wanted to see. "We haven't been able to contact him, either."

Jim paused mid-chew, something to which Spock raised his brow. It only took about two full days to get from Jim to mom. Something must've gone wrong. He told them as much, then added, "Maybe he went the wrong way, got on the wrong transport or something." Only, that didn't explain the loss of communication.

He was leaning on Spock's shoulder now, something his mom and Pike didn't miss, his food all but forgotten. "All right, you guys just keep a look out. We'll keep trying his communicator. Something's gotta give sooner or later."

As it turned out, something did give, sooner, rather than later. Two days into school, sitting in class and pretending to be challenged, Kirk was summoned by the authorities – two suits and an officer, in case things got ugly. They led him to an empty class, sat him down, attempted to make him comfortable.

"You are James T. Kirk?" one of the suits asked, staring down at him with his arms crossed. If Jim wasn't used to the treatment, he might have been intimidated.

"Yeah." There was a distinct lack of respect, purposeful – something the others caught.

"Brother of George S. Kirk?" the other one asked.

"Sam, yeah," Jim corrected. "He in trouble?"

"Possibly," Number One said, looking at Number Two for confirmation. Photos exchanged hands, set in front of Jim and spread out. They were of Sam… but nothing like pictures his mom would collect. Sam hung limp, bleeding… his skin a color that was less than healthy.

It wasn't a joke, Jim was certain. The people Sam crossed had caught up to him. And now… now they were after _him_.

"Look, I don't know what kind of sick joke this is," Jim said, irate and standing abruptly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the officer's hand go to his hip. Right, he reminded himself, no sudden movements.

"It's not a joke," Number One said sternly, sharply. "Your brother's body was found on the docks last night. We suspect he's been there for a few days, hidden so that the killer could have a better chance of escape."

Jim nodded, morose. Sam hadn't been hidden, he'd been put on display, an example set for those who thought they could run.

If it hadn't been obvious before, it sure was now: they were dealing with someone who knew what he was doing.

-

Jim had packed an overnight bag. Spock was looking at him strangely, even as he opened the door wider to let him enter. He took a quick shower before messaging his mom. Pike answered; they still looked worried.

"I found him," Jim said quietly. His mother was already crying. "It happened a few nights ago. They used him as an example." He didn't say anymore, sure his mother wouldn't be able to handle the details. It was a short conversation that ended with Jim in Spock's bed eating _plomeek_ soup.

"They're dangerous," Jim told him. It was almost silent, but companionably so. Their knees touched. "Two Vulcans, Sam… who knows how many more. We've got a free weekend coming up," he suggested. "Go down to the docks, investigate a little. We're the only ones who know about the Vulcans, about their link with Sam. We're the only ones who can connect the murders."

Spock looked at him, noticed he wasn't looking back, touched his shoulder lightly. Tears flowed, and suddenly Jim collapsed into Spock, holding on as if for dear life.

When Jim woke the next morning, Spock's arms were still around him. It was a happy, content feeling for Jim. Even when the Vulcan woke up he didn't let go. Spock made no objections.

* * *

Okay, so I'm really sorry about killing off Sam. I kinda liked him. And I think I made Spock a little out of character... sorry, again.

I hope you liked! :)


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